Nemo
by hypersoda
Summary: My name is Jack Frost, and though the Moon gave me a name, I am nobody. In the end, I chose to humor my darker side. And why is that? Well, I'll tell you - from the very, very beginning.


_**Notes**: This fanfic is intended to be accessible to those who have only seen the film. I may include information established in the** Guardians of Childhood** books while rebuilding the world imagined in** Rise of the Guardians** at a later point; at the time of this writing, a book detailing Jack's background has not been published. For now, though, this story works with the film's canon. I felt somewhat awkward titling it **Nemo** due to the fact that most think of the Pixar film when they hear that name, and DreamWorks and Pixar are longtime rivals. In the end, I stuck with it; after all, characters with that name preceded **Finding Nemo**; if anything, when I think of **Nemo**, I also think of the song by Nightwish (partly what inspired this story)._

_In this story, I have two goals: (1) to show that Jack is indeed capable of joining Pitch, and (2) that I need to rebuild Jack's world from the very beginning with plausible experiences, as well as examine the relationships between him and the other characters presented in order to succeed in this claim._

_There is a chance the story may go up in rating, but that chance seems unlikely. If it does go above this rating, it will be due to violence (the extent of which I'm still debating)._

_It's going to be a lengthy ride, but I'm excited; this is my first large project in a long, long time. I hope you guys enjoy it and stick around!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

When I was born, it was into a world where the bleakness encapsulated my very being. I remember waking up in suffocating darkness, freezing water surrounding my body. I couldn't see, could barely hear. And though I could tell it was cold, my body wasn't affected by it in the slightest; I could move my arms, though it was with some struggle.

But it was a different sort of difficulty. Like I hadn't moved in a long, long time. Of course, the fact that I was in water didn't really help either; that I could even move my limbs in the freezing cold water at all was a miracle.

Despite the fact that I could move, I was scared. I was blinded; the water burned when I tried to force my eyelids apart. And even when I could see, the darkness was constricting, contracting, closing in on my body. I thrashed about in the water, trying to find a way to escape from it, but no matter what I did, it succeeded in silencing me.

But it wasn't long before I heard it. A clear, crisp voice that echoed in my ears despite the fact that I shouldn't have been able to hear it.

The voice seemed to come from above, far away, and I sought to follow it. I could barely move, but the source must have sensed it for I suddenly felt a force below, pushing me upward. Slowly, slowly, a tiny bit of light came into focus. I could barely see it, but it was there. And then it wasn't long before I felt the harsh cracking of ice as I was raised from the little lake. Haphazardly, I looked every which way, trying to find the source before I looked up and saw the moon's light. It bathed the landscape below in an eerie, yet serene glow; it calmed me. And that was when I knew, knew that it had definitely been the moon that had saved me.

Later in my life, I would come to know this figure as none other than the Man in the Moon; the one who told me, "Your name is Jack Frost," and left me with nothing else to ascertain my identity. He was the one who blessed me with life and released me from my frozen prison. And he was the one whose actions cursed me with the story I am about to tell you.

My story is bittersweet, melancholic, possibly tear-inducing. And at times, it is pleasing, touching. But ultimately, the identity of my tale is none of these things.

It is simply the story of Jack Frost and how he is, now and forevermore, no one.

* * *

Though my life was shrouded in mystery, I was still but a child; a baby in the body of an almost-completely-grown boy. And so I inspected my world with those very wide eyes that only a child could possibly have. Gently, I slipped down toward an unbroken patch of the lake, my toes gracing the ice. Once more, I could tell it was cold, but it had no effect on me.

Strange, I thought, but didn't question it.

Near me rested a large branch. Or rather, judging by its shape, it was a staff; probably discarded a long while ago. I took it in my hands and was examining the cracks in the wood when I suddenly felt a surge of energy through it. Startled, I lurched back, turning my face as far away from the staff as I could get. But then I looked down toward my feet and saw ice freshly forming at the bottom of the staff. I was mesmerized by its sheer beauty, its intricate patterns flowing along the lake this way and that, my eyes wide as I watched the magic erupt before my gaze.

And I realized then that I had nothing to be afraid of, after all.

It was beautiful, the first beautiful thing I had seen in the short time I had been awake. And I wanted more of it. God, that was all I wanted, that simple desire. Sometimes I wish for that moment back, because it was the only moment of pure innocence I've had since I woke up, if I've ever even had any.

So I painted the frozen lake, running freely about, trailing the staff behind my nimble feet. Chilly wind blew past my body, catching in my clothes, flattening my hair. You wouldn't believe how happy I felt, simply because I could create something so unique. In the moments after I finished I realized that possibly, just maybe, I was special. Even though I had yet to meet another living soul, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow different from the world around me.

But just how peculiar was something I could not begin to fathom.

* * *

I didn't spend too long there, admittedly. My curiosity got the best of me, and I quickly ascended, awkwardly flailing as I tried to gain control of myself in order to fly. Balancing in the air took a little bit of maneuvering; I had to shift my body this way and that in order to make sure that I didn't fall. After a few awkward tumbles, I managed to get the hang of it, but in order to stay safe, I told myself that I wouldn't go terribly far from my home.

Home? Was that what I had already come to appreciate that place as? In a way, I guess it made sense. After all, the lake was the only place I remembered existing in; in fact, I could not remember living in any place at all prior to that. As frightening as that thought may seem to you, at the time it appeared so natural to me; I existed, and I didn't necessarily have a past, but that wasn't a bad thing. It just meant that I simply started living at that point, that my story began at that time.

In a way, I guess it was foolish that I didn't think that I could have had a life prior to waking up. But then again, you couldn't blame me. After all, I was alive; the simple fact that I had gained life, that I had roused in a place otherwise deadly - it didn't seem likely that I could have had some sort of life before then. I thought he had created me, and in a sense, the Man in the Moon had. And that he was my father, that I had a foundation - that was all that I needed to keep pressing forward.

So I did, though I didn't aim to wander far that quiet night. I quietly rose above the treetops, just enough to see reasonably far into the distance, looking about for a tangible destination. It didn't take too long to find it; after all, a village's light oscillating through the hills isn't all that difficult to find from up above.

Immediately, I set off for it, riding along the wind's currents; now that I had become somewhat comfortable flying, I decided to experiment. The wind rushed toward my cheeks, mussed my hair; I flipped upside down and watched the snow-covered forest rapidly disappear behind me.

And with that, I looked toward the moon and smiled.

* * *

I slipped from the air into the village. Though it was tiny, there were plenty of people outside walking around. It was all typical village fare, really; some people crowded around a fire, a few gossiping women, a bunch of children playing gleefully under the umbrella of night.

Even so, I couldn't exactly stop to take in the sights. After all, I had priorities - the first being finding out where exactly I was. I tried to get the attention of one of the villagers, but was ignored. Perhaps the person didn't hear me. I tried again. Still no response from the people around me. Even so, I kept attempting to speak to the villagers. I tried to stay as calm as I could, even though I could feel my own breaths getting heavier, my heart racing as anxious thoughts piled themselves one by one in the back of my mind.

Maybe, maybe they simply couldn't hear me, I told myself. Perhaps they were all blind. Or maybe it was all a trick? Yes, mere play, foolishness reflected in their hearts. Yes, yes, yes, that was all it was, all it was.

At long last, I saw a child running toward me. Perhaps this one would be my savior, the one to show the others that the trick they were playing was needlessly cruel, especially to a stranger from the outside.

Then it happened.

I felt the rush of air, but it was far different from flying. No, this time, it was the feeling of the wind passing through my body, my very soul. Like I was hollow.

As if there was actually nothing to me.

The child went right through me, and kept running. Running as far as little legs could carry, running through the village with the rest of the people that could see his figure.

What happened afterward is still a blur to me. I remember being in complete shock; I can still recall my frantic running as I desperately tried to communicate with everyone. And each time, I was shot down, ignored.

Invisible.

* * *

I tore from the settlement, the thought of flight not immediately crossing my mind. I was far too wound up in the awareness that all those "What ifs?" my mind whispered in that short period, the very thoughts that I tried to push away in vain were true. It was a scalding pain, and I felt it stab through my heart, bringing the shuddering truth of my existence into the open air.

Even then, I still tried to fight it. I didn't want to live in a world where I couldn't be seen, be heard, even though I could clearly hear my own voice. I wanted to simply forget what had happened, to go back home to my lake and just keep painting and running and flying and playing-

But why, just why could nobody see me?

Why, why, why, why?

I remember that simple thought snaking its way through my mind, my body becoming tenser and tenser as I flew into the pitch black sky. Knuckles whiter than my already deathly pale skin gripped the staff. Slowly, I felt the air around me getting thicker, colder as I ascended. The wind grew in speed, becoming violent; the moisture in the air froze, transforming into sharp, biting ice.

The gusts tore through the forest, and I was dragged along. Ice rippled through the trees, branches cleaving apart, tearing through my clothes. I shielded my face with my hands, curled into a tiny ball. But even then, I couldn't stop what had already formed, and the storm I created bit into my skin. And through it all, I saw the moon staring back at me, its gaze silent.

I screamed.


End file.
